


So Spark is a Charm

by ritazien



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Steve Rogers, Florist Tony, M/M, Tattoo Artist Steve, florist/tattoo artist au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:26:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2388179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritazien/pseuds/ritazien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Florist/tattoo artist AU, in which Tony inherited his flower shop and has his eye on the owner of the tattoo parlour next door.</p><p>Inspired by http://killer--ink.tumblr.com/post/98500585558/i-passed-a-flower-shop-next-to-a-tattoo-shop-and</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Spark is a Charm

He is wearing glasses, focused on whatever he's drawing in a way Tony begrudgingly admires. What's Tony doing? He's checking out the new neighbours. Checking out being the operative phrase here. And okay, the shop next to his has been there a few weeks now and has a steady customer base coming in and out every day, so it's moving out of 'new' territory.

“Enjoying the view?”

He pushes off the bench he was leaning on and raises an eyebrow at the guy handing him his coffee.

“Seeing how business is doing,” he says, nonchalant, to this guy, whose name is, what, Sam? He's pretty sure it's Sam.

“Uh huh.”

Coffee in hand, Tony nods briefly to Sam and heads across the road to his own blooming business. Another glance at the blonde hunched over his work and then he's out of sight, Tony safely in his own store. 

“What?” he exhales, placing his coffee on the bench and shrugging out of his jacket.

“Just go introduce yourself, Tony,” Pepper says, shaking her head. She's at the counter, and they are both surrounded by flowers.

He closes his eyes and breathes in the fresh smell of the place for a moment. Ah, flowers. When his parents passed away, everyone expected him to sell this place. His mother's favourite project. He didn't, and it's... it's the best kind of home he can imagine right now. In his jeans and Black Sabbath shirt, people are usually surprised when they find out he's a florist, but today his button-down fits the job fine. Ignoring Pepper's comment, he leaves her to the books and settles in the back of the store with a stack of roses to trim.

It's 9:30, and if Pepper isn't on the phone taking an order, a customer is wandering in to browse or looking to make up for a last-minute anniversary. There are always last-minute anniversaries. Tony ties a bow around the flawless bouquet he's arranged for an afternoon delivery and turns his attention to more important matters. Pen in hand, he starts to alter his latest gadget design before he decides it's too flawed and needs to be redesigned entirely. He rips the page out of his book, crumples it in his fist and throws it in Pepper's general direction. He hears her huff of indignation, and then the creak of the door. Tony glances up briefly, and stares in surprise.

“Well this looks like a fun place to be.” The man looks around, smiling and moving over to smell a bunch of gardenias. Tony slides off his perch and strolls over, extending a hand and taking in their neighbour, in all his golden-haired, tight-shirted glory. Shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing a colourful sleeve of ink. The man takes Tony's hand, his grip firm, and his gaze earnest as their eyes meet. Tony's heart stutters, and this man's lingering hold on him is louder than his own instinct to shut down that feeling.

“Tony Stark,” he says, crossing his now free arms across his chest, and glances around the store. “I own this place.”

“The note did mention that,” the man says, his gaze still focused on Tony. “I'm Steve, I work next door.”

“Yeah, I've s- did you say note? What note?”

“The one that came with the flowers.” The edges of his eyes crinkle a little and Tony is distracted for a second. “I came by to say thanks. And hi.”

Tony exhales and looks to the back of the shop, where Pepper is busying herself with the flowers, not nearly as subtle as she's trying to be. Tony's eyes narrow. “Hey Pep,” he calls.

She looks up, nonplussed. “Yes?”

“Did you send welcome flowers next door, by any chance?”

“Yes.” She smiles – that easy, close-lipped, professional smile she's put to good use since working with Tony.

“Great.” Tony turns back to Steve, who is bent over, grabbing the scrunched-up paper Tony had thrown. He stands up and starts to smooth it out, but Tony reaches for it. Steve switches hands and has it out in front of him before Tony can stop him. How is he so damn graceful?

“What is this?” he asks, gaze flicking back to Tony, down to his mouth and back to his eyes. Tony licks his lips, shakes his head.

“It's a draft. I'm redesigning, this model is far too sensitive to the self-destruct mode. Among other things.”

“Among other things?” he prompts, amusement in his smile, and an impressed glimmer Tony is familiar with. Tony pulls his gaze back to the paper and shrugs; steps closer to Steve and plucks the sketch out of his hand.

The distance between them is no longer proper, and Tony stares at Steve, some kind of challenge. He doesn't move.

The shrill phone ring cuts through whatever is going on right here, and Steve takes a step back, gestures to the phone, head down like some 1940s gentleman. Tony smirks and turns around. The back door is ajar and Pepper isn't in sight. He sighs and jogs over to the counter, leans over it and picks up the phone.

“Stark Flowers,” he answers, all his charm dripping through the phone line, wasted that he could be spending on Steve. There are footsteps approaching, and he gets the order down on a scrap piece of paper and thank you, ma'am and yes, you too and then he turns around to Steve, far closer than appropriate and staring at his hip, where Tony's shirt has ridden up. Half his tattoo is visible, all black ink in a pattern of particle trails up his side. He watches Steve, who glances up hesitantly.

“May I?” He moves his hand slowly, waiting for permission. Tony nods, just once, and Steve reaches in to tug the shirt up further. “It's beautiful.”

“I love this shop, but science is...” Steve looks up from the tattoo, back to him.

“Your real love?”

“My mistress, at least.”

Steve huffs a laugh, looking down, and Tony could get used to that. Steve's hand drops to his side, and Tony's shirt falls back to cover most of his side. He pulls it down all the way.

“Do you want to get coffee sometime, Steve?”

“I'd like that.”

“So I'll...”

“How about you come by the shop later? I close later than you do.”

“Yeah.” Tony clears his throat. “I'll do that.”

Steve starts to back away. “See you then.” Tony stops him, a hand firm on his arm, his solid, gingham-covered arm, and pulls himself closer.

“I'm just going to...” He leans in, heart at a stand-still, and presses his lips to Steve's, firmer as Steve responds. Their mouths open easily and then they're apart again, inch by inch. Steve smiles, and huffs again, and Tony smiles, one corner up. “Wasn't feeling patient.” Steve nods, and inhales before straightening, and Tony is proud of the effort it seems to take, before he remembers he has to let go.

“Later,” he says, firmly. Steve nods and backs up, step at a time, shoves his hands in his pockets, and turns around to head out. On his way out the door, he glances back at Tony.

When he's outside, he stops for a second, looking across the street. Tony frowns, and searches the street of cafes and boutiques. The guy in the coffee shop – Sam – has his eyebrow raised and is shaking his head, but as he turns away, and Steve is heading out of view, Tony catches a smile.


End file.
